What Happens in Edge
by Ne'er-Do-Well
Summary: Vincent takes a trip to Edge to visit Tifa and Cloud. In retrospect, he probably should have told them Sephiroth would be coming with him. Sephiroth/Vincent.
1. What Happens in Edge

_Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII and all its characters do not belong to me._

_About halfway through typing _Until We Meet Again _this idea started forming. This is something of a sequel to that story. It takes place in the same "universe"_, _has the same Vincent and the same Sephiroth. Really this is more of an idea dump, so there will be no set plot. Kind of a collection of related one-shots of various lengths, but a little more than that. Some of it will be silly, but as always, there will be plenty of angst. I do like my angst. Rating will probably change...  
_

_It was mentioned in a review of the last fic that we never really knew what Vincent was thinking... That was mostly due to laziness on my part because I knew this fic would be coming up ._.; Gonna dive a little deeper into the weird, somewhat dysfunctional relationship Sephiroth and Vincent have. Gonna see what's on their minds, see what's on AVALANCHE's minds... I already kind of know what I want to write about for the next few (and by few I mean six/seven -cough-) chapters. I do have other unrelated ideas lurking in the back of my mind and I really want to write about those too... I suppose I'll just have to see how well I can plan this out._

* * *

Seventh Heaven was a small bar, but it was cozy. It had good food, good booze, and a number of faithful regulars who frequented the bar rain or shine, which was good news for the owner of Seventh Heaven as Edge was almost consistently overcast and rainy. Today the bar had been unusually quiet, the stormy weather forcing even the most loyal of regulars to stay in their homes and out of the downpour. Tifa was unconcerned with the lack of customers. Instead of taking orders and brewing drinks, she spent her time cleaning the bar and restocking her beverages. She supposed it was a good thing business was slow; she was expecting company and wanted all the time she could get with her guest.

The door of the bar swung open and Tifa quickly set the glass she had been drying on the counter before rushing to the entrance to greet the newcomer. She easily recognized the dark clothes of her guest and the familiar, high-collared cloak. Ushering the man into the warmth of the room, she smiled at his long, water-logged hair. Dark bangs almost completely covered his distinct red eyes and locks of hair were plastered to his face. His cloak was also drenched and a puddle was quickly forming at his feet.

"Maybe you ought to think about investing in an umbrella, Vincent," Tifa said, voice filled with lighthearted humor.

His eyes met hers from behind his bangs and his lips twitched upwards briefly before returning to a flat, impassive line. "Perhaps."

Tifa grinned and began to help her friend with his cloak. She turned towards the stairs and said in a loud voice "Cloud! Vincent's here!" then turned back to Vincent. "The weather's got him out of work. There hasn't been a delivery call in days. It's been driving him crazy and he insists on making it worse by locking himself in his room. I just don't understand him sometimes."

Vincent nodded in understanding, slipping his heavy cloak off of his shoulders. Tifa could hear boots pounding their way down the stairs and rolled her eyes as she moved away from Vincent to close the door. Rain and wind were rushing into the building and the warmth was rushing out. She gazed out at the dark clouds and wondered at the stormy weather. It didn't look like it was going to calm down any time soon.

Suddenly a dark form manifested in the gloom, walking at a steady pace towards the bar. A length of pale hair whipped in the wind and the figure's broad shoulders and confident gait struck Tifa as vaguely familiar. The figure lifted its head suddenly and Tifa gasped in horror as her wine-colored eyes locked with green glowing ominously in the darkness.

"Vincent watch out!" She yelled in alarm, her arms instinctively rising into a defensive stance. The towel she had been using to clean was clenched so tightly in her fist her knuckles were going white. "Cloud!" The man was almost upon them; his cat eyes burned into hers and his smirk was arrogant and mocking. This wasn't right. How had he found them, how could he have known where they lived? Were the others all right? He was supposed to be _dead_.

Cloud was at her side in an instant, a broom held ready in his hands. She could hear his surprised, sharp intake of breath. "Sephiroth," Cloud said lowly, his eyes narrowing and his face twisting into an expression of fury. He bent his knees and braced his feet against the floor, blue eyes watching closely for any indication of an attack.

Sephiroth finally reached the doorway and stopped at the entrance. His amused gaze slid over their tense forms and the makeshift weapons in their hands. Tifa silently cursed, times had been so peaceful she had found no reason to keep her weapons close. Her gloves were deep in a closet upstairs, useless when she needed them. If Sephiroth was anything like she remembered... Unease settled in her stomach. Would they even make it through this alive, she wondered.

"Have I become such a trivial thing that you think you can defeat me with brooms and rags? I used to inspire such fear..." Sephiroth's voice was smooth and filled with humor. His posture was relaxed and his gloved hands were empty, but Tifa and Cloud both knew his deadly sword could be summoned in less than an instant. Tifa's muscles tightened, her heart was pounding in her chest and her breathing hitched. Her callused hands clenched nervously and she could feel a cold sweat forming on her body. Frigid rain was still pouring freely into the bar and landing on her bare arms, but she barely noticed. Her eyes were focused on Sephiroth's cold, handsome face; her mind pulling up old strategies and tactics taught to her when she had been a young girl. She had trusted her master Zangan with her life and had followed his teachings religiously, but even so she wondered if any of it would matter against the man before her.

Everything darkened suddenly and Tifa braced herself as the air around her pulsed. The blackness was oppressing, her breathing was quickly becoming labored. She knew this feeling, Sephiroth was summoning magic and somehow it seemed even more powerful than she remembered. Maybe it was because he was so close or because it had been so long, but the magical pressure was so ridiculously strong. He was only focusing his magical energy, he had not even begun to cast, and already Tifa could feel her body freezing in fear. _There is no hope_, she thought miserably, _we're all going to die here_.

"Sephiroth," Vincent's calm voice cut through the tension easily. His tone held just a hint of exasperation.

Tifa and Cloud both faltered in their battle stances and Sephiroth's gaze left them to look at the darkly-clad man behind them. The oppressing aura the man had been generating faded instantly. Sephiroth looked disappointed, "Vincent, you know I was only kidding..."

Vincent brushed his water-logged hair from his eyes and stared at Sephiroth flatly.

Sephiroth invited himself into the bar, easily brushing past the two people trying to stop him, and walked up to Vincent. He offered the dark-haired man a charming smile and lifted Vincent's chin with a finger. Vincent's expression did not change. Sephiroth was not discouraged, but he did step away, shrugging his shoulders.

Tifa stared at the pair with wide eyes. Her Tifa Senses were tingling. Was it just her or did their interaction seem almost... intimate? No one _ever_ touched Vincent's face, yet Sephiroth had done so with such familiarity... Her head was starting to hurt. _I'm probably looking too far into it... It's just too bizarre_. A quick glance at Cloud told her he was oblivious to the subtle signs she was seeing.

"I think you're going to have to explain what's going on, Vincent," she said firmly, shutting the door.

Vincent heaved a quiet sigh. "I suppose I should have told you Sephiroth would be coming with me. I tried to get him to stay behind, but he insisted so I didn't have much of a choice. On the way here I tried to lose him... Needless to say, he followed me." He looked at Sephiroth and arched an eyebrow disapprovingly. The pale-haired man replied only with a self-satisfied smirk.

Tifa rubbed her temples. She could tell from the glarefest Cloud was having with Sephiroth that she would be the one asking all the questions. "But why... _how_ is Sephiroth even here? How did the two of you even meet? And why, for the love of Ifrit, aren't we all dead yet?"

Vincent gave Sephiroth another sidelong glance. The man was as arrogant as always, the smirk he was directing Cloud's way nothing less than mocking and the blond looked like he wanted nothing more than to grab one of his swords and turn the bar into a battlefield. Vincent met Tifa's eyes once more. "It's... difficult to say." More like long story he really did not feel like going into. "Sephiroth approached me one day and I was convinced he was not our enemy. I... am confident he is being genuine," he finished quietly.

Tifa frowned, conflicted. She trusted Vincent with her life, but she could think of nothing more unpleasant than Sephiroth being inside her home. The entire situation was just... ridicuous. It was getting late, Tifa was not in the mood to think. She had just wanted to sit down and catch up with Vincent... _Tomorrow_, she decided. She would deal with this tomorrow. Maybe by some stroke of luck she would wake up and discover the evening had been an unpleasant dream. Tifa sighed inaudibly. "Fine, but I want you to watch him constantly. I'm sorry, but I just can't..." her voice faltered.

Vincent nodded, "I was planning on doing so anyway." He laid his right hand on her shoulder and she knew he understood. "Thank you, Tifa."

She smiled at him slightly, uncertain she had made the right decision. She would surely have to corner Vincent later and force the details out of him. Suddenly she realized that they were still standing by the door and Vincent was dripping on the hardwood. "Oh! What happened to my manners? Vincent, let me get you some towels... Cloud, help me get the futon out of the hallway closet. I think we're all about ready for some sleep..."

–

It was dark when she awoke and the clock on the bedside table told her it was just past five. Time for her to get up, but Tifa was content to lie a few moments longer and listen to the rainfall on the other side of her window. She closed her eyes briefly as she remembered the night before. _ Sephiroth_... She was not sure she was ready to confront him just yet. Tifa was still wondering how the madman had managed to come back from the dead _again _and even more baffling, his connection with Vincent.

She slipped her legs out from under the covers and winced as her feet hit the cold floor. Her bedroom door creaked softly when she opened it and she crept as quietly as she could down the stairs as she made her way to the kitchen. Tifa did not want to wake anyone needlessly, especially not her guests sleeping in the living room. She was willing to bet Sephiroth was as light a sleeper as Vincent could be. Her dark-haired friend was one of the lightest sleepers she knew, but he was also oddly capable of sleeping like the dead on occasion. Perhaps it was a side affect from sleeping in that coffin for so long, Tifa thought to herself as she slid through the living room and into the bar portion of the house.

The warmth of the stove wiped the last remnants of sleep from her mind and the smell of the eggs scrambling in their pan made her feel slightly more optimistic about the coming day. After she had filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove, Tifa took her plate and her slice of toast with her down the hall to the open doorway of the living room. She leaned against the door frame and gazed thoughtfully at the shapeless mass on the floor at the center of the room. The night before, Tifa had set up the two mattresses a fair distance from each other, but the pair seemed to have pulled them together. Perhaps she had not imagined their intimacy yesterday. Another forkful of eggs was pushed into her mouth and she chewed thoughtfully. The room was dark, but her eyes were adjusting accordingly. She could just make out Sephiroth's broad form lying on its back. Vincent, however, seemed to melt into the gloom and she could only assume he was the lump in the pale sheets next to the ex-general.

The lump shifted suddenly and Tifa could see a dark head separate itself from the mass of sheets and settle near the Sephiroth's sleeping form. Her eyes, having fully adjusted, could see that beneath the unruly, black hair, Vincent's expression was oddly serene. That alone was enough to make her stare. Never had she seen Vincent look so... open. Whenever AVALANCHE had made camp during their journey together all those years ago, Tifa had used to sneak glances at the sleeping Vincent; curious about his rarely uncovered face. She had been mildly surprised to find that even in sleep his face was schooled into a cool, impassive expression. She accepted it as simply the way Vincent was, but looking at him now she could see that there was more hiding beneath the surface. Had something changed in Vincent over the years? Perhaps he had become more open with his feelings and she had simply failed to notice. Or maybe it had something to do with his sleeping companion, though she found that hard to believe. Her eyes flickered over to Sephiroth as the thought came to mind.

She jumped when she saw the man's eyes open and bright in the blackness, calmly watching her watch Vincent. Heat quickly forced it's way up her neck and she was glad the room was dark, if only because it spared her the embarrassment of Sephiroth seeing her blush. Tifa suddenly felt like she had been doing something indecent. She suddenly felt the need to explain herself. "Uhh..."

Sephiroth only watched her with the same cool, detached interest he had when she had first seen him in Nibelheim. The thought was enough to kill whatever petty embarrassment she had felt. What was she doing? This was the man who had burned down her hometown, destroyed everything she had held dear. The grip she had on her plate tightened as the memories resurfaced, fresh as ever.

Her childhood home swallowed in flames. The homes of friends and neighbors she had known since birth burning. Bodies, all people and faces she knew and recognized. Nibelheim had always been small, the community of families close-knit and loving. The men of the town trying to stop the madman, all in vain. How Sephiroth had swiped at them with his masamune so effortlessly, how they had fallen so easily. His eyes wide and mad as he took in the destruction he had wrought. His dark coat fluttering in the fire, his hair stained the yellow-orange of the flames. The dread that had filled her when she had heard of her father's attempt to head off the crazed general. His body still and broken on the warm metal of the reactor floor, impaled by the glinting blade of Sephiroth's terrible sword. Tifa could feel a lump forming in her throat as the angry tears formed behind her eyes. She had taken that sword in her hands and rushed at Sephiroth. He had stopped the blade and cut her down; sent her body flying and tumbling down the reactor's hard metal steps. Her chest burned at the memory, the scar had never faded. The ugly, horrible scar Sephiroth had cut across her abdomen and chest. Tifa thought she could still feel a touch of pain, a reminder to make sure she would never forget. Sephiroth had batted her away like he would a fly and had not spared her a second glance; he had thought her so insignificant.

She was not leaning on the door frame anymore. Her hands were clenched around her plate, barely contained rage churning inside. Hatred was cold and rooted deep within her. Somehow she thought it would have faded over the years, after Sephiroth's defeat, but it was as powerful as ever.

"You hate me." Sephiroth's voice was low. Inflectionless. It was not a question.

_Loathe, despise, detest, abhor_. She narrowed her wine-colored eyes. "Being under the same roof as you, knowing you are here in my home makes me feel great pain and anger." Tifa barely remembered why she had agreed to accept the man into her bar.

Sephiroth watched her and she could see his arm snake beneath Vincent's body and around. Sephiroth's strong, long-fingered hand settled itself on the sleeping man's head. "I destroyed your town and killed you father. I even injured you." He remembered. The guide girl from Nibelheim.

Tifa could not believe how insensitive the man before her was. He had admitted such horrible deeds with no remorse, no emotion. Killed her father? Destroyed her town? "That was only the beginning of the list!" she wanted to scream. Aeris who had been both her close friend and her rival, the suffering he had brought upon Cloud, Hell, the entire _Planet_.

"I'm sure you would like to kill me."

There was no hesitation. "Yes."

Sephiroth slid his eyes from hers and gazed at the man he held in his arm. "Vincent did not want me to come because he knew it would hurt you and Cloud." Something dangerous flickered in his eyes; Tifa was not sure what it meaning it held. "I knew as well, but I came. You might think it was to hurt you, but I can assure you it was not though I am sure any attempt I might make to convince you would have no impact on your opinion." He paused then began again slowly, "it's strange, but for some reason I keep thinking if I let him out of my sight he will disappear again. Even though I know it's irrational." Tifa thought she saw a bitter smile curl his lips, but the darkness cloaked his expression well.

Her burning anger died just slightly, giving way to a wave of curiosity. "Just what is your connection with Vincent? Why..." she could not finish the sentence. Why do you care? You're supposed to be an insensitive, heartless bastard. Sephiroth caring about anything conflicted with her entire image of him.

He narrowed his cat eyes to slivers and he allowed his gaze to follow the smooth curve of Vincent's neck. "He cared when no one else would. He was kind before I even knew what the outside world was, what kind of place it was. He was... is..." Confusion flit through his mind. Deep in the green light of the lab with only science and cruelty for company, Vincent had been a blessing and Sephiroth had clung to him for as long as he could. Even now Sephiroth was following him, watching him, shamefully afraid he would vanish again. Sephiroth was supposed to inspire fear, he never felt it himself. "I don't know why I'm telling you this." His gaze fell on Tifa once again.

Tifa was not sure what to think anymore. Sephiroth had faltered, for a moment he had been uncertain. Never had she seen nor heard of such a thing. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to make her way back upstairs and roll back into bed; it was just too early for this. She hated this man, had hated him for many years, but a voice in the back of her mind was telling her that he was different somehow, that the situation had changed. She found herself breaking her lock on Sephiroth's eyes to look at Vincent.

When she had first met the man she had feared him and had lashed out at him to hide her unease. His glowing, crimson eyes and his dark, unruly hair had made him look inhuman. The pale skin had reminded her of the vampire stories she had heard as a child. Even his solemn, reclusive attitude had made her anxious and distrusting. Despite her negative opinion of him, he proved himself a valuable ally. Quiet, but polite. Occasionally he would voice his own opinions or give the group advice; his ideas sound enough to even influence Cloud's decisions. In battle his marksmanship was unmatched, his unnatural abilities made him incredibly strong and agile, and his sense of strategy was keen. His transformations were terrible and powerful, but never had they turned on his allies and Tifa could not help but admire his control. She learned to trust him and their years together had strengthened that trust. Though she barely knew more about him than she had at their first meeting, she had come to think of him as a good friend, someone she could talk to and rely on.

He had told her he believed in Sephiroth and she wanted to trust him, but her loathing for the once-hero was holding her back. It had eaten at her for so long, she just could not let go. She almost did not _want_ to let it go; she wanted to be angry, she wanted to dislike and distrust. Sephiroth had destroyed everything that mattered to her, she did not want to forgive.

What a horrible emotion hatred was, great enough to overpower the love she had for her friends.

She was painfully aware the silence between the two of them had become pregnant and uncomfortable, at least on her end. Sephiroth had turned his attention back to Vincent, his fingers combing through the man's dark hair slowly. The ex-general looked pensive, Tifa thought the scene was strangely tranquil. She wanted to say something, but could not think of anything to say.

A high whistle broke the silence for her and she started. It took her a few moments to remember the kettle she had set on the stove what seemed like ages ago. She moved from the doorway into the hall and coughed uncertainly. She watched Sephiroth and Vincent a moment longer. If she could find it in herself to at least try... "Breakfast is in the kitchen. There's also coffee and tea if you want," she said quickly and pivoted with her plate clutched tightly in her hands.

"Thank you."

She glanced into the room one last time and could see Sephiroth's luminescent eyes in the darkness slide from her back to Vincent. Tifa pursed her lips and gave him a curt nod before walking back to the kitchen.

–

"Excellent as always, Tifa," Cloud smiled at her briefly, then graced Sephiroth with another venomous glare. Sephiroth took another sip of his coffee and ignored him.

She smiled back. "They're just eggs." She turned to Vincent. "Sleep well, Vincent?"

He nodded, narrowing his eyes as Sephiroth stole one of his toast slices. "Yes, I feel quite well rested."

"That's good, but I was thinking... It was really terrible of me to make you guys sleep on the floor." Guilt blossomed in her chest, Cloud was not going to be happy with what she was going to say next. "You guys should take Cloud's room."

"_What?_"

Vincent blinked. "That really wouldn't be necessary."

"No, I insist! I don't want you to think my hospitality is limited to making my guests sleep on hardwood floors, Vincent. It's not like Cloud ever really sleeps in there anyway."

Cloud looked outraged. "I'm sleeping in there now!"

She shot him look and he gave her one back. Really she was just trying to avoid a repeat of this morning. Giving Vincent and Sephiroth a room would give them some privacy and she wouldn't have to walk in on any more... intimate moments.

"What's wrong, Cloud? Is there something in that room you're trying to hide?" Sephiroth asked, amused and mildly curious.

"W-what? No! I just don't want homicidal maniacs in my bedroom," he growled and their glaring contest started once again.

Vincent ate his eggs slowly, seemingly oblivious to the arguing around him. Tifa groaned and pressed her forehead against the cold table. It was going to be a long day.


	2. Stays in Edge

_Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII does not belong to me._

_New chapter already! I'm on a roll. Short, not-so-serious chapter this time 'round. Next chapter will be nice and angsty__._

_And I suppose we could call this fic happier, but happy sandwich between angsty bits. Yay potential character development!  
_

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_Well I can't hear anything_, Cloud thought to himself as he pressed his ear against the door. It was bad enough he had to give up his room to a madman, but it was even worse that he had no way of knowing what sort of horrible things Sephiroth was doing to his stuff. The image of Sephiroth going through his drawers and mutilating all his clothes with the masamune kept popping into his mind and he pressed against the door a little more desperately. His only hope was Vincent. Cloud was confident that his red-eyed friend would try to protect his possessions, though the blond was still trying to process Sephiroth and Vincent being on friendly terms. How his archenemy had even managed to come back from the dead (how many times did he need to kill the guy?) again was beyond him. Not to mention Sephiroth had somehow managed to convince Vincent he was a good guy, which was just impossible. Vincent was a smart man. The only reasonable explanation Cloud could come up with was Sephiroth had somehow brainwashed the ex-Turk. That or he was using some serious Manipulate materia.

He squinted at the lightly colored wood of the door. There had been a noise. It had been faint, but he was sure... There it was again! _They sound almost like footsteps..._, he mused. Cloud started and leapt from his position against the door. He glanced down the hall and cursed its smooth, featureless walls. There was no where to hide. Cloud straightened himself and tried not to look too guilty. _I should pretend I was just coming down the hall..._

And then the door opened. Cloud looked up to see his least favorite person standing before him. Sephiroth's hair was damp against his button down shirt and judging from the man's raised eyebrow, Cloud's trying-not-to-look-guilty face was failing him horribly. The soft sound of falling water told Cloud Vincent was probably in the shower.

Sephiroth arched his eyebrow a little higher. "Well, this isn't at all strange."

Cloud glared at him, but gave no other response. He stole a quick glance into the room. What little of it he could see looked fairly untouched. Even his bed was made. It was a little suspicious.

Sephiroth looked over his shoulder to see what Cloud was looking at. "Hm? Oh, we didn't do anything on your bed if that's what you're thinking."

Cloud blinked. _Wait, do what exactly?_ He could think of a few implications that could have been compatible with that statement; none of which were appropriate. "What?"

Sephiroth stared at him blankly, as if not sure Cloud was being serious or not. Then a devious smirk slid across his face. "Oh you know. We didn't _do_ anything."

Blue eyes narrowed. "No, I'm not sure I do know."

"Sex, Cloud."

Cloud gasped. Surely not! Not Vincent and this... _this_...! His couldn't even come up with a word for the evil in front of him. _Wait, Vincent was totally into that Lucrecia chick. He can't be gay... Right? _But another voice whispered just behind his ear, _he always was a little on the pretty side... He could be bisexual...but with _Sephiroth_? No. There's no way... almost no way...  
_

Sephiroth was rather pleased with himself. Cloud's look of utterly dumbfounded horror was incredibly satisfying.

"You're lying," Cloud said finally. Sephiroth was trying to trick him, trying find something to hold over his head so he could have another reason to make fun of Cloud. Well, Cloud had plenty of experience with being pulled around and manipulated like a puppet. He wasn't going to fall for that again.

Sephiroth simply shrugged. "Suit yourself." He brushed past Cloud and began to walk towards the kitchen.

Cloud glared holes into the man's back. He was such a cocky bastard. Sephiroth's smooth voice drifted down the hall.

"We didn't do anything in your bed... but your shower..." Sephiroth paused at the stairs and gave Cloud a nasty smirk. "Well, let's just say it's a good thing the water washes away all the evidence." He grinned at Cloud's wide-eyed stare and turned away. Satisfied he had left the younger man scarred for at least the rest of the day he bounded down the steps, ready for a wonderful breakfast.


	3. Pillow Talk

_Disclaimer: The author owns nothing but ideas._

_Had some trouble organizing this one. Originally this chapter was going to be giant. It was going to lay out most of the complications of the relationship, but then I asked myself "Why rush?" So many layers to go through, I might as well take my time. So this chapter isn't as angsty as I had planned (maybe that's a good thing?)._

_Gah! to intimacy. I feel like I imply sex so much I should just write it, but I've never written a lemon before... thinking about it makes me nervous o_o; Some people can write well done, original sex scenes. Others just pretty much copy and paste material from other fiction. I almost don't want to even attempt in case I'm horrible ._.;; Think about it later..._

_As always, thanks for the reviews! I get the feeling Cloud will be getting even more sympathy as the story goes on. Poor Cloud indeed.  
_

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The slender fingers in his hair had woken him from a peaceful sleep, but he didn't mind. The feeling of soft fingertips running bold lines against his scalp was wonderfully familiar and when they slid down the back of his head and brushed his neck, he shivered pleasantly. Sephiroth shifted and slipped his arms around the warm body next to him, his long fingers curling in the cloth of the other man's pajama shirt as he pulled Vincent against him possessively. The hand in his hair paused and Sephiroth cracked his eyes open to see Vincent's face turned towards him, the red irises of his eyes glowing mutely as they stared back at him.

A large hand drifted down Vincent's side and past the bottom of his boxers. Sephiroth gripped the smooth thigh beneath his fingers and smirked at the way Vincent's dark lashes fluttered when he slipped his digits under the silky material of the man's underwear and against his skin. The pale-haired warrior brought his face to Vincent's warm cheek and used his teeth to tug the flannel collar of Vincent's pajama shirt from his neck.

When Sephiroth had first discovered Vincent's pajamas he had laughed. The very thought of the quiet man sleeping in the warm-looking, slightly fuzzy clothes had been both bizarre and hilarious. Vincent had informed him plainly that the outfit had been a gift from Tifa, which had resulted in Sephiroth dissolving into another fit of giggles. He had figured they were probably a gift; he doubted the serious ex-Turk would have picked out the red flannel pajamas printed with little black chocobos for himself. Sephiroth had somehow convinced Vincent to wear the amusing outfit to bed, after which he had promptly stolen the man's pants only to be mildly disappointed when he found out Vincent had worn boxers beneath his pajama pants. Somewhere between entering the bed and going to sleep, Sephiroth had pulled the pants onto his own long legs and he had to admit, they were quite comfortable despite their ridiculousness. Not to mention the near half-naked Vincent looked especially molestable in is chocobo print shirt. He was beginning to understand Vincent could make just about anything look attractive.

Vincent released a soft sigh when he felt Sephiroth's nose brush his hair and the man's lips against his ear. The hand on his leg was firm; the pad of a long thumb rubbed slow circles on the inside of his thigh. Sephiroth was being unusually gentle, but he was unpredictable bordering on dangerous. There was always darkness lurking behind Sephiroth's eyes and his moods shifted often and easily.

The arm Sephiroth had curled around his waist eased from its spot between his back and the bed and the green-eyed man slid his broader body on top of Vincent. He leaned down and pressed his forehead against his bedmate's. His bangs brushed Vincent's darker, messier hair and a lock of Sephiroth's long white-silver tresses spilled over one of his wide shoulders and pooled on Vincent's chest.

Sephiroth's right hand left its comfortable spot on Vincent's leg, trailing back up the man's side and under his shirt. He pushed the thick flannel up and allowed his fingers to ghost over the pale flesh of Vincent's abdomen. Green eyes gazed at red intently, waiting for a reaction, but even in the darkness of the room he could see Vincent's expression was calm and closed. He could never tell what Vincent was thinking when he did this, but he never told Sephiroth to stop. Even if Vincent asked him to, Sephiroth was not sure he would. It was practically his right after all...

Cat-like pupils greedily took in the pallid, well-muscled chest and the man's long, graceful legs, spread just far enough for Sephiroth to rest between them. Vincent was slender and lacked the powerful upper body muscles of a melee fighter. The gunslinger's body was built for stealth and agility, his physical strength not as obvious as Sephiroth's was. Slim fingers pushed harder and higher as Sephiroth's left hand deftly unbuttoned Vincent's shirt. Beneath his fingertips, the dark-haired man's heartbeat picked up just slightly. Sephiroth's luminescent eyes roamed the figure lying below him, appreciating the soft curve of Vincent's jaw, his midnight hair curled against his elegant neck, and the way the quiet glow of his crimson eyes made his lashes cast shadows on his eyelids. Sephiroth's eyes were drawn to the paths his hands were tracing over Vincent's chest and abdomen. His light touches went from sensual to simply curious as they flitted over unmarred skin.

Recently Sephiroth had begun to wondered. Other than the large scar near his chest, Vincent's body had no blemishes. He pressed his lips to Vincent's ear once more. "You're oddly scar-less for an ex-Turk."

Vincent's right hand, which had been stationary since Sephiroth had awaken, tightened around the fine strands of the other man's hair and tugged. Sephiroth lifted his head and leaned back so he could see Vincent's face. The dark-haired man let the silver hair slide through his open fingers and his hand traced the side of Sephiroth's face. The sharp angle of his jaw, the smooth line of his brow. Brilliant, green eyes and his impressively long, moonlight hair. Sephiroth was an undeniably gorgeous man. Vincent narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

Sephiroth cursed Vincent for being so hard to read. The man's face was blank and his eyes told Sephiroth nothing. Though with the short distance between them he noticed for the first time Vincent's eyes were a spectrum of warm colors. Around the pupil they were a honeyed red-orange and at the outer edges of the iris, a shade darker than that of wet blood. Sephiroth arched his eyebrows curiously when Vincent broke eye contact and looked away.

"I once tripped and fell on the root of a tree." Vincent's voice was just above a whisper, but rang clear through the quiet room. "It earned me a large gash just below my knee and a lot of pain. I cried so hard I couldn't even bring myself to get up and my mother had to carry me home." He paused, but did not look at Sephiroth. "That was when I was seven and is one of the few memories I have of my mother."

Sephiroth was not sure what to make of Vincent's response so he remained silent.

Vincent did not need to turn to know Sephiroth was watching him intently. "I was young and ignorant when I received my first mission as a Turk. Though I had trained and trained, the thought of killing a another person scared me and when I had cornered my target, I hesitated. He took the chance to attack and cut me straight across the chest. Had he gone a little deeper I would have died. That day I learned that there was no room for uncertainty on the battlefield.

"Over the years I accumulated many scars, many of which had come from my time as a Turk. They were made by mistakes I had made, enemies who had been especially difficult to defeat. Every scar had a lesson learned behind it or a significant memory." His bloody gaze met Sephiroth's green.

"Had?" Sephiroth inquired softly.

Pale lips twisted into a bitter smile. "My regenerative abilities are quite remarkable, aren't they? When I had woken from death, there had been an enormous cavity in my chest where Hojo had shot and killed me." Vincent's hand dropped from Sephiroth's face to touch the horrible scar above his heart. Muscle and skin had grown over the hole, and though the scar tissue was a touch darker than the rest of his skin, it was smooth and unbroken. "Now there is only this. When a wound is formed, the very DNA of the cells around it is damaged. That damage manifests itself as scar tissue. After Hojo gifted me with this extraordinary self-healing, my scars faded. Cells that had been damaged for decades repaired and restored."

Cold fury flickered in Vincent's eyes, but faded in the next instant. "The only scar that remained was this." His fingers curled against his chest. "Perhaps because it had been the wound that felled me; even my abilities could not completely heal something tainted with death. Hojo had given me something of a cruel rebirth. All my scars wiped from my body, as if to negate the memories and lessons that had come with them. When I had first discovered their loss I had panicked. I began to doubt my own mind, not able to discern truth from madness. The only thing I was certain of was this terrible mark he had bestowed upon me. The pain it had brought and the torture I suffered for years after. The good of my past life became pieces of a distant dream." Vincent's voice trailed off and his words hung heavy in the silence of the room.

Sephiroth remained quiet as Vincent finished, his eyes watching Vincent's impassive face pensively. He was not sure he understood why Vincent felt such sadness over the loss of his scars. Sephiroth had scars too, granted they were few, but his regenerative abilities were not quite up to Vincent's level though his body was tougher in compensation. His own scars reminded him only of unpleasantness. The tiny pinpricks on the insides of both his elbows from the numerous injections endured in the labs; battle scars brought forth by his own moments of weakness and stupidity.

His jade eyes trailed down Vincent's body to his left arm. The shining gauntlet had been another present Hojo had given Vincent. Long fingers slipped into the man's sleeve and traveled up the length of the limb. He hooked his fingers around the metal edge of the claw and pulled it down and off the arm slowly. Sephiroth tossed it to the side with his left as his right pushed the sleeve up so he could see the usually hidden arm. He arched an elegant, silver eyebrow at the limb.

"You keep it hidden so often I was expecting a mutated arm with talons for nails or a tentacle or something," Sephiroth said smoothly. He stroked the flesh of the uncovered arm as pale and smooth as the rest of Vincent's body. There were small, red indentations in the skin from bumps on the gauntlet's interior, but Sephiroth knew those would fade within an hour. The only other abnormality he could see was the five-digit specimen number printed across the pallid forearm. Sephiroth had something similar on his own left arm, in addition to the "00" tattoo on his hand that marked him as the primary subject of the Jenova project. "Why?" Sehiroth asked the man beneath him. He found it rather contrary that Vincent would curse the scar Hojo had given him, but at the same time wear the claw so willingly.

"In ancient texts, mythological monsters often had claws of bronze and gold. I thought it was fitting." Vincent smiled at Sephiroth's scoff then schooled his expression into that of seriousness once again. "Early in the experimentation process, when I had first joined with my voices, my moods had been volatile. Their emotions influenced my own just as much as mine influenced theirs and I was prone to frequent partial transformations. For whatever reason, when left uncovered, my left arm was sensitive to my instability and the partial transformations manifested themselves in my arm most often. Sometimes I would grow claws or fur, it varied depending on who was trying to break free. I'm sure Hojo thought he was being quite witty when he gave me a clawed gauntlet to wear always." He watched the top of Sephiroth's pale head quietly. "It does not happen anymore. We have known each other for many years now, I suppose it can be said we have come to an understanding of sorts."

"Then why wear it?" There was a few moments' silence in response and Sephiroth knew Vincent would not answer; not that it mattered. He had a hunch Vincent wore the claw as a reflection of his own self-loathing and ever low self-esteem. It was strange the dark-haired man could radiate such quiet confidence when he was so uncertain in his mind.

The ex-general caressed the other's exposed left arm and felt distinct satisfaction at the sharp intake of breath he received. Perhaps it was a good thing Vincent liked to keep his arm gauntleted so often. Uncovered it was horribly sensitive to Sephiroth's light touches. Vincent's expression revealed almost nothing, however. Only his minutely parted lips gave any indication of what was running through his mind. The pale-haired man became mildly irritated. It had pleased Sephiroth when Vincent had spoken to him about his past, but the older man had already returned to his usual, dispassionate self. Granted, Sephiroth was often similarly distant, but seeing Vincent act in such a fashion made him curiously unhappy.

"You used to be able to smile so easily," Sephiroth said in his low, smooth voice. Even in the gloom of the Manor's lab, Vincent had always managed to spare Sephiroth a smile. Now Vincent's expressions of any emotion were rare. Sephiroth narrowed his eyes at the man, but Vincent was oblivious, his own eyes trained on the featureless ceiling.

Already today Vincent had told Sephiroth so much, revealed to another person the private thoughts that haunted his mind. How many people really knew him? Vincent wondered. Even the friends he had made in AVALANCHE knew barely more than his name. Friends and family Vincent had known in his old life were dead and gone; Vincent himself sometimes felt like an ancient relic from a forgotten age. His red eyes slipped closed. Suddenly he felt forlorn and weary.

"A cold mask was an important part of being a Turk. It had been hard to maintain in my earlier years, but it became quite natural over time." Sephiroth was a touch surprised Vincent had bothered to answer. The green-eyed male tilted his head to the side then nodded slowly. Much of his personality had been molded to fit his job as well. "It was useful against Hojo who seemed to take pleasure in the pain of others. I was quite satisfied when he could not get the same pleasure from me." Vincent's lips quirked upward. "Also, my transformations were often triggered by my various moods. Keeping my emotions in check meant fewer painful metamorphoses." He paused thoughtfully. "I've used this mask so frequently for so long, maybe this impassiveness has become permanent." Bitterness tainted his quiet voice.

Sephiroth snorted derisively. His left hand left its resting place on the bed to dip below the hem of Vincent's black boxers and grip the pale man's hip with crushing strength. He pressed his body forward, pushing Vincent into the mattress, grinning wickedly when he felt Vincent's hands grip his shoulders in surprise. Sephiroth ran his hot tongue up the length of Vincent's smooth column of a neck and nipped the skin just below Vincent's ear with a sharp canine. The ex-Turk tried valiantly to hide the sharp gasp, but Sephiroth's keen ears caught it anyway. The taller man rolled his hips forward and ground against Vincent just right. Even Vincent could not stop the the breathy moan that left his lips.

Sephiroth smirked into the other's neck and whispered in a rumbling growl "Was that a challenge, Mr. Valentine?"


	4. Enter New Rival

_Disclaimer: The author owns nothing but ideas._

_Ahh, I couldn't even find the time to type up this tiny chapter! And when I finally do, what happens? Login errors! Gah._

_Anyways, super grateful for the reviews and thanks a lot for the feedback! It made me feel a bit better about writing a lemon, but I'll still be writing around it until I get get up enough courage to actually do it -cough-._

_Yeah, I suck._

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Sephiroth hated children. Really he disliked the human race in general (the only thing he and Jenova could agree on), but human children were all the worst qualities of man condensed into terrible little blobs of irritation. They were in incessant, annoying, unintelligent, and an utter waste of space.

So when Cloud had returned back from wherever he had gone (Sephiroth didn't bother with tracking the man's movements) with not one, but two children in tow, Sephiroth had been both curious and annoyed. Well, kids would certainly explain why Cloud and Tifa were living together though the children seemed a little old to be theirs. The boy he had disliked the moment he set his cat-like eyes upon him. When the little brat had spotted him, he had rudely pinned Sephiroth with a suspicious glare; something the silver-haired man had not appreciated in the least, though the suspicion was well-deserved. Tifa had explained that the boy, Denzel, had gone through an unpleasant experience involving silver-haired men, but Sephiroth had brushed the excuse away.

As far as he was concerned, the kid was Cloud Jr. A cocky, wannabe-Cloud brat with blue eyes that looked like they had been plucked out of a certain, blond swordsman and shoved into the boy's head (minus the mako glow). The child's only redeeming feature was his hair which was just slightly more tolerable than Cloud's, but in Sephiroth's opinion, Denzel was still a Cloud clone and the last thing the planet needed was more Clouds.

The other child, a brown-haired little girl, had looked at least more bearable than Denzel. In fact, she was probably what most people would have described as "cute", and Sephiroth might have agreed. But then she had opened her mouth and unleashed a horrible, squealing "Uncle Vincent!" and had proceeded to jump into the black-haired man's lap and tangle herself in his clothes.

Which brought Sephiroth to the present: watching the young girl talk animatedly to Vincent through narrowed eyes. His long, leather-covered fingers curled against the tabletop and a quiet growl rose in his throat. The child lifted a hand to toy with Vincent's hair playfully and it was at that moment Sephiroth recognized what he had thought was a little girl for what it really was: evil incarnate.

"Uncle Vincent," the Beast said with a deceptive pout. "I had a nightmare last night. Can you tuck me in when I go to bed?"

Vincent gave her a soft smile. "Of course, Marlene."

Sephiroth's glare deepened. Cloud had just been knocked off the top of his hit list.

Marlene immediately brightened. "Yay! Do you think you could sing me a lullaby too?"

Vincent inclined his dark head. "Sure." The she-demon squealed with delight.

Across the table, Sephiroth's eyes went wide with disbelief. Lullabies? _But those lullabies are mine!_ Sephiroth thought furiously. _Vincent sang them to **me**__. They were meant for no one else. _His low growling was not so low anymore. The bar darkened ominously and the air thrummed with dangerous energy. Both Vincent and Marlene turned to look at Sephiroth. Vincent had a dark eyebrow raised reproachfully, but Sephiroth was too busy glaring at the girl in Vincent's lap to notice. He reveled in the fear he saw in her face when she saw the look he was sending her way. A look that quite plainly said "get your filthy little hands off my Vincent, brat".

"Why don't you do play with Denzel, Marlene?" Vincent told her softly. The girl nodded, eyes stilled locked with Sephiroth's, before hopping out of the crimson-eyed man's lap and shuffling away. The bar filled itself with warm light again once she was a fair distance away. Sephiroth smirked.

Vincent leaned back in his chair and stared at the other man impassively. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Sephiroth said as picked his coffee mug off the table and brought it to his lips.

Vincent arched an eyebrow.

Sephiroth took a sip of his coffee.

Vincent frowned.

Sephiroth set his mug back on the table and folded his hands on his stomach.

Red eyes narrowed incredulously. "Sephiroth, don't tell me you're jealous of a little girl."

Sephiroth glared. "What? I'm not jealous," he growled indignantly. He was the Great and Legendary General Sephiroth. He _never _felt envious. He had nothing to be envious about. He was superior to all creatures physically, magically, and intellectually. Hell, he was practically a god. Besides, what did a little girl have to be envious of? Nothing.

Except for those few moments she had stolen Vincent's attention away from him.

...

Well damn.

"I'm not jealous." Sephiroth told Vincent's skeptical expression.

The expression did not change.

Sephiroth's cat eyes narrowed.

"Fine," Vincent said with a shrug.

Sephiroth fought back a another growl and looked away. "Just don't sing her any lullabies," he muttered.

With his gaze diverted he completely missed the small smile that curled Vincent's lips.


	5. Eavesdropping

_Disclaimer: The author owns nothing but ideas._

_Long note here, but I'll try to be brief. Mostly me rambling and spouting appreciative nonsense. No one's stopping you from skipping. This was supposed to be a serious chapter but I decided to go with another silly one instead because of my totally meh mood. I believe innuendo fics deserve a genre of their own. Cloud's a perv._

_As much as I love humor, I've got all these ideas and I really want to get down. Dramatic, sappy romance and other more serious multi-chaps. Been kind of eager to step away from this universe a bit (one-shots -cough-) and I'll be getting at least one other fic started ASAP. Updates on this one will become irregular (as if they weren't already)._

_And daaayum. Really had not expected the response I got for that last chapter. o_O_

_Now the long bit. I would just like to take a moment to express my absolute love for my fellow Sephiroth/Vincent fans. The readers, the reviewers, the authors, fanartists, and just the general fans. I'm always a fan of the stranger pairings and it's always kind of a pain finding fanworks or other fans... I've spent many a day searching the interwebs for fiction and gathering fanart. I like to think I've read/seen a good majority of the Sephiroth/Vincent stuff out there. Most of it's pretty frickin' awesome too. Like being a fan of Sephiroth/Vincent implies that fan is just as uber as the pairing. There was a time it pained me to search the internet because there was _nothing _new and I was too insecure to write my own stuff. No updates, no new fiction, just a drought of Sephiroth/Vincent love. I had even given up on ffnet! And then Ookami Kasumi came along and restored my faith in ffnet (_Diabolic_ woot! woot!) and I came back to check for _Diabolic_ updates (talk about rapid updating, seriously o: ) and I had to go back and read all the stuff I had missed during my ffnet boycott.  
_

_And now! We get a steady stream of fanfiction. Not just fanfiction either, it's all really great stuff. We've got some amazing authors here in the Sephiroth/Vincent corner of ffnet (and I'm not talking about myself either, haha. No, not even). And really, what's a fanfic without reviewers giving feedback and encouragement? So yeah, I love people who love things I do and Sephiroth/Vincent is probably my favorite pairing of any fandom. Where would I be if I weren't writing about these two? I'd probably be hanging with the Hojo/Vincent crowd (lolwut? I hear you say) or writing for another fandom altogether._

_Cid/Vincent section has gone totally stagnant and Sephiroth/Vincent's still kicking ass. HA! Take that Cid/Vincent! Not that I really have anything against the pairing, but it did steal away potential Seph/Vin fans. I guess Cid getting married kind of killed it (but Sephiroth died like, three times and that isn't stopping us now is it?). Sephiroth pairings other than Sephiroth/Vincent scare me so I can't say anything about them. Call me selfish -shrug-.  
_

_(And to answer your question **Valeroth**: Doujinshi. The first was from _Death and Rebirth_, this one's from _Schwartzwald_, scan courtesy of arigatomina's website.)_

_edit: Dammit typos!  
_

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Cloud sat in the empty hall with his ear against his bedroom door. It was becoming a regular event, eavesdropping on Sephiroth and Vincent doing whatever they did in his room. Ever since his... _enlightening_ conversation with Sephiroth (he shuddered at the thought of it), Cloud had become determined to find out the truth. Vincent and Sephiroth _doing things_ in his _shower_ was just mind-boggling and disturbing. Though there was always that chance Sephiroth was just trying to mess with him. The silver-haired man was kind of a sadistic prick...

"...Sephiroth, stop moving around," Vincent's voice was saying from beyond the door.

There was a soft snort. "I'm just trying to give you better access to my package," came the ex-general's smooth reply.

Cloud choked. _What? _ Surely he wasn't talking about... He shook his blond head. No. Not possible. _Besides_, Cloud thought to himself, _who actually says "package" to describe their junk? _This was, of course, coming from a man who used words like "mosey" and "dillydally" in everyday speech.

"Well it's not helping." There was a pause. "I've never done this before...," Vincent said uncertainly.

Cloud, as convinced as he was that they weren't talking about what he thought they were talking about, couldn't help but nod slowly to himself. _Well if Vincent's only ever been with women before it would make sen— Wait, no! Dammit Strife, they might not even be talking about that!_

"You'll do fine."

There were few moments of muffled rustling. Cloud strained to hear what was going on behind the closed door.

Sephiroth spoke again, this time in a voice filled with amusement. "You could come a bit closer, Vincent. It's big, but it's not _that _big."

Poor Cloud nearly keeled over.

"Shut up." Cloud could almost see the annoyed glare on Vincent's face.

Some more shuffling from inside the room left Cloud alone with his thoughts. _It's getting harder to deny... _The blond swordsman waited a number of long tense seconds, wondering why it had gotten so quiet.

"Ow! Shit, Vincent!" Sephiroth cried suddenly. "Those things are sharp..."

Cloud's eyes widened. Not the fangs! Those kinky bastards. Admittedly, he had always been curious about Vincent's pointy teeth...

"I told you to stop fidgeting." A pause. "Oh stop whining, it's not even deep..."

"I wonder where all this blood came from then?" Sephiroth muttered sarcastically. "Even got some on my pants."

_Odin, they didn't even undress? Must've been going for a quickie..._

Vincent snorted. "You mean my pants."

"Ah... so they are. I was wondering why they were tight."

There was another quiet moment. Cloud guessed they were probably staring each other down.

"So... are you going to you lick it clean?" Sephiroth said arrogantly. Cloud was willing to bet there was a haughty smirk on his face.

Silence.

"...Vampire."

"I'm not a vampire," Vincent said indignantly.

"Sure."

"Just be glad you didn't get any blood on the sheets."

_You don't do anything on my bed, huh? Sephiroth you lying bastard... _Cloud glared at the door angrily.

"Eh, it would've been Cloud's problem anyway." Sephiroth said offhandedly. "Now I understand you might be a little embarrassed at your initial failure, Vincent, but that doesn't mean you should just give up."

"I wasn't about to," Vincent muttered. "I might be new to this, but I learn fairly quickly."

"I know you do," Sephiroth replied. Cloud's eyes widened minutely. What was that supposed to mean?

"Just lie back and don't fidget anymore." Cloud's bed sheets rustled. "And spread them out a little more."

The blond squared his jaw then he pushed himself off the door and got to his feet. _All right, this has gone on long enough._ He grabbed the door handle in a calloused had and turned it roughly. His booted feet pounded the floor violently as he burst into the room, "Okay, what the hell is going on in here!"

Cloud's eyes roved the bedroom until he found Sephiroth and Vincent sitting on his bed, both of them staring back at him in mild surprise. His furious expression melted into confusion as he saw Vincent sitting on his knees, gauntlet hand lifted and his clawed index finger pointed at Sephiroth. The silver-haired man sat directly across from Vincent, a jumbo-sized packet of hot cocoa powder (one of the ones Tifa kept in reserve for her Bad Days) held between the thumbs and index fingers of both his hands. Cloud noticed the index finger of Sephiroth's right hand bleeding.

Cloud blinked. "Er, seriously, what's going on?"

Sephiroth turned from him to share a glance with Vincent. "We're trying to see if Vincent can slice this packet of cocoa powder with his claw." He lifted the package slightly. "We decided to steal one of Tifa's big ones to give Vincent a better target since he's never done anything like this before."

Vincent quirked an eyebrow. "I'm a gunslinger. I don't usually bother with cutting things, especially with my claw. It can't be that hard, really."

"Yeah, that's why you missed and sliced my finger open."

"You'd think the world's greatest threat could take a little pain... and I wouldn't have missed if you hadn't moved."

"I was trying to help you."

"And we see how well that turned out."

Cloud stared at the bickering couple blankly, then turned, walked back out of the room, and shut the door quietly behind him.

Sephiroth and Vincent stared at the shut door in bemusement.

"You know," Vincent mused, "I'm beginning to think he never completely recovered from that whole mako poisoning thing..."

Sephiroth nodded silently in agreement.


	6. Conflict

_Disclaimer: The author owns nothing but ideas._

_Yeah, I know. Thank you guys so much for the reviews, the PMs, the encouragement, and the annoyance. I have nothing to say to you but thank you and sorry. I am very grateful and very sorry.  
_

_I used to make line breaks with minuses/hyphens, but ffnet no longer supports hyphens that just chill on their own. I have to go back and edit my old stuff now (this story I've already done. punctuation, typos, all that. no doubt there's still some I missed though. there's always something I miss.). Does editing a chapter equal an update I wonder? I don't want my old stories on the front page for no reason!  
_

_So much lightheartedness in this story, I bet you all forgot about dark!Sephiroth from the end of _Until We Meet Again_ (as well as earlier chapters of this fic. sort of.). Well, I've bumped the rating up to M. Some darkish sexual content and confused Vincent ahead. It's not super graphic and there's no straight-up pr0n (I can hear you guys groaning in disappointment), but yeah. Just a heads up._

_edit: __brukleflesche: XD I proofread so carefully yet there's always something I miss. Thanks for pointing that out~_

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He supposed he should have felt fear rather than the slight unease he had when that voice had brushed his ear. A voice filled with veiled threats, hunger, and an unnerving emptiness. A voice he had not heard since Sephiroth had been mad and hollow, when he had believed his sole purpose to be a conduit for Jenova's will.

And when hot, hard hands had encircled his wrists and pinned them to his back, perhaps he should have cried out instead of trying to ease his mind with promises of transforming should the situation grow dire. His pounding heart had known better. The situation had been dire enough with just the iron grip on his wrists, yet that cold voice had spoken louder than the sentient murmurs twisting amongst his thoughts and had pushed them aside along with his growing doubt.

The tone of that voice shifted into something that could have been sensual, but was tainted with malice and the words it whispered in his ears were filled with bloodlust and a lust of a different sort. He felt confusion and uncertainty and somewhere in between his unease turned into the terror it should have been from the very beginning.

There had been lines once, or at least he thought there had been. Lines that in the past he would have never crossed, never would have even thought of crossing. Maybe he had been fooling himself into thinking those lines had never been crossed, blurred, or completely erased in the past few years he had spent with Sephiroth. Or maybe it went even farther than that.

Long ago in the deep, oppressing darkness of the laboratories of the Shinra Mansion he had wanted to protect Sephiroth because of the child's connection with Lucrecia. Then he had been sympathetic; the boy had never asked for the life he had been born into, a life forced upon him by the will of his father and mother. Somewhere along the way he had stopped playing just the role of a parent and had become a friend, loving Sephiroth for his wit and personality rather than his connections, and had grown perhaps just as dependent on Sephiroth's friendship as the boy had been on his.

He could still remember a time when he had hoped for death, begged for it in a broken voice. When the physical and emotional torture had become almost too much for his fragile mind and the only thing that had kept him from plunging over the edge was the pale, cat-eyed boy with the tiny hands who needed his love and protection. He needed to hear his voice just one more time, to cradle the boy in his arms and stroke his hair to calm him after an injection; to be with him another month, another birthday...

A hand combed through the long strands of his dark hair before fisting them and pulling, guiding him up onto his knees as the strong thighs against his posterior pushed him forward until his head hit the headboard. Was this the result of him turning a blind eye to Sephiroth's advances? Was this happening because he had lain passive so many times before, hoping that Sephiroth would eventually come to understand the metaphorical lines that were supposed to be in place between them?

Hypocrite. The word rose from the doubt and confusion of his thoughts and burned in his consciousness. How could he expect Sephiroth to understand when even he no longer knew what was between them. His attraction to the other man was undeniable and he felt lust when Sephiroth touched him. It was wrong. So very wrong. The images of the child and the man were clashing now. He could not lust after a child, but then was this a different Sephiroth? What was there to love if not what he had loved in the child?

When the hand around his wrists released them in favor of skirting the waistband of his pants, terror struck again. His newly freed hands were around Sephiroth's arm in an instant, tugging and pulling desperately, but the hand only quested farther into his pants. Words were falling from his lips. The sound of his own panicked heartbeat thudded in his ears too loudly for him to hear his own words, but judging by the way Sephiroth's mouth curled against his neck, he was sure they were pleas.

His hips jerked in surprise when wandering fingers finally found what they had been searching for. Heat washed over him as the fingers began to stroke his limp member, but he was too overcome with fear to find it truly arousing. His nails were gouging angry, red lines in Sephiroth's pale skin, but the man was unfazed. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his Turk training was screaming at him _pressure points, eyes, throat _but he couldn't make any sense of it. His hands went to shining, silver hair, clawing and pulling frantically. Blood streamed from the deep scratches on Sephiroth's arms as tears poured down his own flushed cheeks.

He almost wished Sephiroth had kept his hands bound. At least then he could have had a small amount of hope _If I just had my hands free I could fight_ instead of the harsh, unforgiving knowledge that even with his inhuman strength, he could do nothing to stop the man. It terrified him, filled him with the sort of fear he thought he had left far behind him back in the basement of the Shinra Manor.

Even as he began to thrust thoughtlessly into the warm tunnel of Sephiroth's fingers and moans forced their way past his lips, tears were leaking from his wide, unseeing eyes. His entire body trembled with fear and between moans he begged in broken whispers. Maybe it was shame that kept him quiet or maybe some part of him was still trying to protect Sephiroth, perhaps the same part that kept him from transforming. That part somewhere in the terror and despair that overwhelmed his mind; uncertainty.

He was pulled back into Sephiroth's lap, his head brought to rest on a warm shoulder. The thumb of the hand fisted in his hair massaged his scalp as lips and teeth trailed hard, painful kisses along his neck and shoulders. It was quickly becoming hard to tell the difference between cruelty and tenderness as they both filled him with the same unwanted heat.

His fingers clawed only half-heartedly, both because he knew it was futile and because the deft fingers moving along his hardened length were growing increasingly distracting. His moans rose in pitch and every smooth undulation of his hips brought him harder against Sephiroth's hot, wonderful hand and closer to the release just over the edge. That low, cold voice was mocking and heavy with sadism, but he was too far gone to care. With one last trust into those slender fingers he came; his final cry of pleasure caught in his constricted throat and came out a pained sob.

Even as he emptied himself into his underwear and Sephiroth's hand, fear began to consume his short-lived rapture. The telltale bulge against his back was more than enough to give him an idea as to what would happen next.

He was set down on his back slowly. For the first time he was able to catch a glimpse of Sephiroth's face before the man bent forward and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. Their eyes met and Vincent stared.

Sane.

Perfectly sane.

They were the eyes of a man who knew entirely too well what he was doing and Vincent found that look of complete comprehension, of absolutely sanity, to be many times more disturbing than the wicked light of madness had ever been.

So familiar. So clear were those aqua eyes, yet so monstrous and cold. _Who is this man? _Vincent wondered as he was steadily swallowed by darkness and the roaring around him. It was getting hard to hear over the hisses and the murmurs. The pale mouth was moving and he watched those lips part and curve to form sounds and words he could no longer comprehend. Surely he could not be Sephiroth for the Sephiroth he knew would touch and caress, but never this. What did the sweet child with the bright eyes know of force and control? But those eyes were so clear and pure. So clear and empty. Empty and forbidding and there was darkness in them always.

Hands were slipping his pants and his underwear completely off his legs now, unhurried as if the man knew he had all the time in the world. Those bewitching blue-green orbs hovered above him and in their centers were wide vertical slits, black and fathomless like an endless void. Lips parted and curled to reveal white teeth and long canines inside a malevolent grin and as Vincent looked upon that smile he could feel his mind breaking.

With every rip and tear there was screaming and growling and words in tongues he couldn't understand and tongues he could and he was panting. Panting and gasping against the angel-demon's lips as slim fingers skittered across the inside of his thighs like the legs of a thousand spiders. There was pain between his legs and on his arms and back and everywhere else. And then he was spitting, snarling, pushing out with his hands and with his mind.

Sephiroth managed to catch himself before he slammed into the wall on the opposite side of the room. On the bed Vincent crouched, staring at him with wide eyes an angry gold instead of the usual bloody red. Clawed fingers were digging hard into the mattress and tearing holes in the sheets. His sable hair was wild around his head, mused from Sephiroth's rough treatment, and inky strands poured over his shoulders and around his face. Leg muscles tensed; then Vincent pounced.

Sephiroth captured the taloned hands, but the head he could not stop. Teeth sank deep into his neck and Vincent didn't have just large canines anymore. Incisors, everything, had grown long and jagged and now they were all imbedded in his flesh. He was pushing the dark head away from him, but the golden-eyed man was growling against his skin and with every push Sephiroth could feel more of his neck trying to break free from the rest of his body.

They were on the floor. Their scuffle was muted; quiet. No one in the house would wake and find the two bodies struggling on hardwood. No one would know what had happened.

Sephiroth was losing blood all over Vincent's face and the floor. He tried prying the bestial jaws open and away to no effect, so he brought his free hand under the feral brunet and let the heat of a fire spell scorch his exposed chest. Vincent yelped in pain, releasing him, and Sephiroth shoved him away. There was distance between them now and Sephiroth tried to keep it that way; his telekinesis formed an invisible barrier in the space separating them. Vincent's own psychokinetic abilities, however, were repelling it. Whether it was conscious, Sephiroth couldn't tell by looking at his crazed expression, but he could not contain the man resisting as he was.

Vincent leapt at him again, but the aqua-eyed warrior was ready for it. He dodged and in an instant the weight of his masamune was heavy, _too heavy_, and familiar in his hand. As Vincent turned, eyes burning with rage, Sephiroth pushed forward and impaled him on his faithful sword. The long, slender blade cut through the man in slow motion and Sephiroth could feel every single layer the brand penetrated. Skin. Flesh. Bone. Flesh. Skin; then empty air as the masamune broke through the other side of Vincent's slim body.

Pale hands, now soft and clawless, touched the cold surface of the blade in his chest uncomprehendingly. Sephiroth watched as that beautiful, ethereal face turned up and eyes, yellow but clear, met his own. Gold melted into orange and then bled back into crimson. There was no mask. Sanguine eyes were open and easy to read. Within them there was confusion, fear, and many other things Sephiroth had never seen on that face before, but as Vincent slipped into unconsciousness and his eyes slid shut he could see only pain.

And as he faded into quiet blackness, Vincent knew only one thing for certain.

Betrayal.


End file.
